moments
by ohlookrandom
Summary: The first time they ever lay eyes on each other is their first day at training when they are ten. The second time they meet each other, she almost kills him.
1. Chapter 1

This is actually a request by Essence of Lily. I always did wonder about the whole Clove/Cato relationship, so here's my take on it! There's like an implied romantic relationship if you squint enough ;)

This was originally one long document, so I split it into 3 parts.

Also, it might help if you read my other sort of companion fic, "Macula Tamen Venia". There are events in there that are elaborated here!

...Holy cow, it's 12.32 a.m. Why does my muse ONLY work at night?

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. I am not a bloodthirsty citizen of the Capitol.

* * *

><p><em>Ouch I have lost myself again<br>Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,  
>Yeah I think that I might break<br>I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe_

* * *

><p><strong>oo1<strong>

The first time they ever lay eyes on each other is their first day at training when they are ten.

Cato is used to being powerful, used to shoving all the other boys around, so he asserts his dominance the first day by barging through the line of ten year olds when the trainer walks off to get something. He scoffs when another boy pushes him back into place, instead towering ominously over the scrawny little runt.

The other boy backs down immediately, averting his blue eyes as Cato growls.

The only person that does not back down is the little girl by his side. She glares at Cato, eyes piercing as knives, and the both of them lock gazes with a stony glare that seems to say, _Watch me, I'm going to be someone someday_.

And then the trainer is sharply demanding that everyone please _get back in line_, so Cato crosses his arm and continues striding through the now silent crowd of kids. This is his show, he knows. It doesn't help bolster the other kids' spirits when the trainer mistakenly assigns him to the older group for training. It only underlines his dominance.

Training goes well. But the one thing Cato cannot forget is the only girl who is daring enough to engage him on his own terms.

**oo2**

The second time they meet each other, she almost kills him.

It is two weeks after their very first training, and Cato is just coming off from his stamina training with the seventeen and eighteen year olds. As he walks past the weapons room, wiping his face with a small towel, he hears a _thunk thunk thunk_ and hastily backtracks.

The small girl is in the room, twirling a knife as she contemplates the targets that have three small knives embedded in them. Cato notes with amusement that the targets all have knives where the heart is supposed to be, and the knives are so far embedded that they are up to their hilt. "I think you're a couple inches off," he drawls as he walks into the room.

Like she did two weeks ago, she meets his gaze with a hard stare. "Says who?"

"Says me." He observes the targets thoughtfully.

"As if you can do better." Her voice is even, with a hint of a threat or a challenge.

"No, but I'm handy with a sword." Cato holds out his hand, and she grudgingly gives him the knife. "Your own?"

"My father's." Her voice is hard and stony, and Cato is left wondering what sort of family she's got. Clearly a better one than his, since his father has never bothered to give him anything.

He hands the knife back, and shrugs. "Good weapon for a little one like you."

He begins to walk away, but then hears something whizz past him and embed itself in the wall at most two inches from his head. Cato looks at the knife, which is still trembling from its sudden departure from its owner's hand, and then turns to look at the girl with the blank expression. "You miss?" he asks calmly.

"I never miss," she says with the coldest tone he's ever heard.

"I believe you." He walks over and holds out his hand. "I'm Cato."

She begrudgingly shakes his outstretched hand. "Clove."

**oo3**

They don't talk when they see each other in the hallways; they only nod to each other as they pass one another. Cato is popular in school, but he increasingly notices that Clove is never present when he is.

One day, when they are both in the weapons room, he asks her where she eats at lunch during school. She only shrugs and replies: "I don't like people."

"Because you'll throw knives at them?" He swings a sword and neatly slices off a dummy's arm.

"Because they make fun of me." Her voice is even, as it always is. She never varies her tone, never betrays what she is feeling. "They don't say it to my face, but I know they say it."

Cato is somewhat at a loss as to what to say, so he goes back to slicing up dummies- something he is fairly good at. "Hand me a knife," he eventually says grimly.

She gives him one, and he throws it as hard as he can at a dummy, impaling it right in the middle. Clove scoffs. "You missed," she says.

"I know." The eleven year old Cato shrugs. "Dad says I'm not as good as you in knife-throwing."

She contemplates this. "It's true." She says it so matter-of-factly.

"And you're not as good as me at hand-to-hand combat." To anyone else but them, it would seem disconcerting that two eleven year olds are creating conversation around weapons and self-defense tactics.

Clove nods, accepting this fact. "Again, true."

"So why don't we spend lunch practicing? You teach me, and I'll teach you."

Clove weighs the options in her mind, her face never betraying the hesitation she feels. "Deal," she says eventually. Then as an afterthought, she adds, "But you're getting your own knives. You won't touch mine."

**oo4**

"What are you _still _doing here?" Cato walks in to find more dummies on the floor, knife marks in all their hearts. "It's eight at night."

"You're still here, aren't you?" Clove's voice is flippant as she pivots and flings another knife at the dummy.

"Stamina training just ended for us. Clove, you were supposed to be home two hours ago."

"And you're supposed to be in the Games," she says flatly, "but clearly that didn't work out, did it?" _Thunk_. The knife drives home into the heart.

Cato scowls. "I thought we weren't bringing that up."

"Why not?" Clove turns to face him, hand on her hip while the other clutches a glinting sword. She shrugs. "Everyone's got something they're ashamed of."

He glares at her, and she glares right back. "I'm not ashamed," he snaps.

"Whatever, Cato." She goes back to throwing, her aim as accurate as it was when she was ten. "Leave me alone."

He hovers for only a moment, but then simply rolls his eyes. "Fine. Bye."

"Bye," Clove says simply as the door slams behind Cato.

_Thunk_. Another knife hits the mark and buries itself deep.

**oo5**

Cato is watching the door like a hawk when it opens and a battered Clove limps in. "Do _not _say anything," she says through clenched teeth when Cato strolls over, mouth open to make a sardonic remark. "I will bury a knife in you faster than you can say District 2."

He reaches over and jabs a bruise on her cheek; she slaps his hand away with a growl. "What happened to _you_?" he asks despite her warning. "Run into a pole?" He scoffs. "I always knew you were uncoordinated."

"Watch yourself," Clove snarls.

"Watch _yourself_," Cato retorts as he falls into step beside the visibly fuming girl. "Is your father-"

"I am warning you for the last time, do _not _say anything," Clove gets out through a clenched jaw. "Especially about my father."

Cato drops the act once they get past the double doors leading to their weapons room. "Why not?" he asks, looking at the finger shaped bruises on Clove's wrist.

She yanks her wrist away, eyes cold as the snow District 2 receives in winter. "No." Pulling away from Cato's gaze, she storms towards the weapons rack. "Let's get to work."

He catches the sword she fairly flings at him. "But-" he begins.

"No," she says emphatically. She glares at him, green eyes piercing like the knives she throws for a kill. And the glare says everything she doesn't- _don't give me pity, don't talk to me, don't mention it, act like it never happened._

Cato's gaze drops away first, like it did that very first time he met her. If she doesn't want pity, he thinks, then it won't come from him at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**oo6**

He is the first one over to Clove's house when he hears the news.

When he gets there, he finds the neighbors in a state of panic because they can't find Clove and oh, what if there is a serial stabber on the loose? Cato almost laughs at the old lady's paranoia. If Clove really wanted to kill someone, she wouldn't prefer close range. That isn't how Clove operates.

Cato knows exactly where to find her. He finds her in the weapons room, throwing knife after knife at moving targets. "Fancy you being here," he drawls in his recently acquired deep fifteen year old voice.

She doesn't look up as she impales another dummy- _thunk thunk_- and only says, "Where else would I be?"

"Indeed." He crosses his arms. "I heard."

She falters, and the knife only hits the shoulder. Clove curses and readies the next one. "What do you want?" she asks.

Cato ignores the question. "Why'd you do it?"

"What do you _want_?" _Thunk_.

"Kill your father, I mean." Cato continues to talk. "Was he hitting you?"

She whirls around, knife ready to throw at him, and Cato folds his arms, that superior smirk dancing across his face. "Go on," he dares her. "Go on, try it. I'm faster than you are."

"I'm smarter," Clove snaps.

"Not necessarily true." Cato begins walking towards her, arms still crossed. "Why'd you do it, Clove?"

"We agreed that we wouldn't talk about my father." She turns her back on him and hurls a knife at a moving target, but only clips the right shoulder.

"I didn't," Cato says quietly as Clove's knife completely misses the next target. She curses and stomps off to retrieve all of her knives. "Clove, the Peacekeepers will be looking for you."

"They know where to find me."

"Not really," Cato drawls. "They'll want to take you in for questioning."

"Fine."

"Not fine," Cato corrects. "My mother can always talk to them for you, use some leverage, say it was self-defense."

"It _was _self-defense," Clove begins before realizing that she's given half the story away. She scowls at Cato, but says in the same even tone, "I don't need your help, Cato."

"Really?" Cato shrugs.

"Really." Clove pulls a knife out of the dummy with a _schink. _"I take care of myself."

"Spoken like a true Career." Cato turns on his heel. "I'll let the Peacekeepers know where to find you," he tosses over his shoulder.

"Do _not _help me," Clove yells after him.

"I won't," he yells back distantly.

That night, the Peacekeepers wake Clove up in the middle of the night simply to ask if she is okay. When she begins to explain that it was self-defense, one Peacekeeper only holds up his hand. "We know," he says in a brittle voice. "Your father had a very delicate reputation around town. And we have a witness that will vouch for you."

Clove asks who it is, but the Peacekeepers only tell her to go to bed.

Cato and Clove never talk about it, but Clove lets Cato use two of her knives when they practice the next day.

**oo7**

"You need to stop practicing with Clove." Cato's father says the words so simply, like it's something that can be done with the flick of a light switch.

Cato looks up from his dinner of lentils and fried beans over an orange glazed chicken. "Sorry?" he asks around a mouthful of chicken.

"We know that she's your… _friend_," his mother says with a hint of distaste, "but Cato dear, you really need to distance yourself from her. She's not a good friend for the reputation of this family." She makes a sound of distaste when Cato just stares at her, his mouth hanging open. "Cato, stop gaping with your mouth open. It's distasteful and not fit for the son of a victor."

"You want me to stop practicing with Clove," Cato repeats in disbelief.

"Only until your Games are over," his father intervenes.

"But she's my partner."

His mother lifts a delicately manicured eyebrow. "Your _partner_?"

Cato's fingers tighten around the fork and knife that he holds. "I was planning on volunteering with her next year."

"You will do no such thing," his mother announces.

"I'm ready, Mother!" Cato protests.

"Oh, I don't doubt that." His mother sets down her own silverware and folds her fingers together. "I just don't think that you will kill her if you had to."

"Yes, I would," Cato protests, even as his tongue feels acidic as he says it. "But think about it, Mother. We would take out all of the other tributes easy. It would be the shortest Games ever."

"The answer is still no." His mother rises from the table. "You may be physically ready, Cato, but your mind is not there yet. You need to be brutal. Merciless. You won't be that with Clove."

"Yes, I will," Cato protests again. "Mother, you were the one who vouched for her when she killed her father!"

"Only because you asked me to," his mother says. "The answer is still no. I forbid you from practicing or talking with her ever again until your Games are over." She sweeps out of the room, leaving a stunned Cato behind.

"Father-" he attempts to appeal to his father, but the older man holds up his hand.

"I'm afraid your mother is right, son. There is nothing left to do."

**oo8**

The next time Cato lays eyes on Clove, it's at an exhibition wrestling match- a mock Reaping. He meets her eyes across the room, the small little girl with the knife, and can't help an amused smile from drifting across his face as he observes her folded arms and uplifted chin. She's the most dangerous person here apart from him, he knows. She responds by lifting her chin even higher and deliberately turning away from him.

His own smile falters, even though Clove hasn't said anything to him. He knows her well enough to know that the way her jaw tightens and the way her fingers are digging into her arms means that she's angry. Of course she is angry, he reflects. He did leave her behind.

But he pushes the feeling aside, remembering his mother's words: _Be brutal. Merciless. _And then his father's voice echoing in his mind: _Hit them hard. They won't hit back._

He is pleasantly surprised when the trainer draws both his and Clove's name out of the basket. Cato strolls to the middle of the room, his muscles rippling. _Easy_, he thinks, eyeing Clove's small form as she takes her place opposite him.

Not so.

Cato finds himself working to keep the slippery girl pinned as she slides and uses tricks that he remembers teaching her. In the end, however, he gets the upper hand and has her pinned in a chokehold. The trainer announces that he is the winner, but Cato barely hears him as he releases the choking Clove. "You good?" he asks.

"Never been better," she spits at him.

He smirks. "Good. I'd hate to lose my best partner."

"Your _only _partner," she corrects him. "Nobody ever wants to work with you. You're selfish."

"And you're as popular as a dead fish," he counters.

"It'll keep me alive in the Arena."

"You won't have an alliance."

She scoffs at that one. "I won't need one."

"If we team up, the rest of the tributes will be dead in days."

She considers his point. "That is true," she concedes.

He holds out his hand. "Allies?"

She shakes it. "For now."

The trainer is dismissing the rest of the trainees, so Cato and Clove wait for everyone to clear out before leaving themselves. "Those were some nice tricks," Cato says eventually as they fall into silent step together.

She shrugs. "I had a good teacher."

They don't train together anymore, but there still remains an unspoken bond of friendship between them.

**oo9**

Brutus eyes Cato over the top of his glass as the two sit in Cato's room. "A Career alliance," he says deliberately. " A Career alliance…"

"Why are you so surprised?" Cato challenges. "It's been tradition for One and Two to team up."

"Yes, but…" Brutus trails off as he thoughtfully fingers the stem of his champagne glass. "I've never seen a pair of Two tributes work together so seamlessly before."

"We've been training partners for years."

Brutus nods slowly. "Tell me, boy, are you willing to kill her? Or die for her?"

Cato snorts. "She's useful to me _now_. When it gets down to both of us…" He simply shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.

His mentor raises an eyebrow. "You didn't answer my question."

"Because you already know the answer." Cato bangs his glass down. "_I'm _the 74th victor."

Brutus nods. "With that confidence, I won't be surprised. Nobody is your friend in that Arena. Not even Clove." He rolls his imposing shoulders back, his grizzly face lighting up with a grim smile. "Make the alliance with One. Make no friendships. If you're going to win, win alone. Your mother taught you to be merciless, I expect."

Cato is reminded of how his mother forbade him from training with Clove, and realizes with a tiny pang that she was only trying to help. "Yes," he says almost inaudibly.

The older man nods, standing up. "Then our strategy session is concluded. You know what you have to do." He begins to walk out of the room. "I'll go get your stylists."

When Clove sees him later that night, she shoots him a look that clearly asks: _What now_?

Cato only grins, even as he shoves her shoulder as they walk. "We're making the alliance," he says. "We're going to destroy them all."

The both of them ignore the unspoken _and each other _as they stride into the dining compartment together.


	3. Chapter 3

**o10**

"Ladies and gentlemen," Claudius Templesmith's voice rings out, "I have a rule change."

Clove groans as she leans back against the tree, a tinge of irritation in her voice. "What now," she growls under her breath.

Cato only kicks her ankle teasingly as Claudius pauses, clearly having heard Clove's remark on camera. He clears his throat, however, and goes on. "Congratulations to the top 6! I am pleased to announce that in honor of having such an _exciting _Games this year, we will be having two victors. If you are from the same district, and if you are the last two living, then you two will be declared as winners."

The two Careers stare at each other in disbelief.

Claudius repeats the statement as the announcement sinks into Clove's brain first. "Cato," she whispers. "Cato, we can _both _win this."

She doesn't have to say it; Cato can feel the relief coursing through her veins. He's relieved in a way, too, because he's been racking his brain every since Glimmer died, and can't think of an easy way to murder his partner.

He only shrugs, his arms folded and the very picture of nonchalance. "Don't think I won't still kill you, Clove."

"Well," she returns dryly, "keep up your attitude and your _terrible _record of kills, and you'll certainly get to do that, won't you?"

Cato scoffs at her as they begin their trek through the forest again. "So who's left?" he asks, counting off on his fingers. He's not quite sure who's left; all he knows is that there are six of them left. "Marvel left us. Maybe he's still alive. The small little girl and the giant from Eleven. The two rats from Twelve. That District 5 girl. And us."

"By tomorrow," Clove grins sadistically, "it'll be just us. They won't stand a chance when we work together."

Cato laughs along with her. "Who do you think is dead?"

Clove only shrugs, her face back to being an emotionless mask. "Five's not got anyone, I think. Neither does Marvel."

"I wish I could get my hands on him," Cato says viciously. "He's dead if I see him next."

"Or me," Clove reminds him.

The both of them trek on in a companionable silence, but Cato gets the uneasy feeling that if it came down to it, the both of them would still kill each other in a heartbeat.

**o11**

"We need to go to the Feast."

Clove says nothing; only looks away from him as she watches the small fire crackle and burn.

"Clove," Cato repeats, "we _need _to go to the Feast." He points at her shoulder, which is still red from the sting of a barbed vine. "Since we're going to win this, I want you to be at your best."

"I don't need your sympathy," she says coldly.

"It's not _sympathy_," Cato snarls at her. "It's me wanting to win."

Clove only rolls her eyes and fingers a knife. "We don't need to go, Cato. Let the others kill each other off."

"Listen to yourself," Cato snaps. "You sound like a weakling."

"Or I sound smart," she retorts.

"Think about it," Cato says. "Even if we didn't need what was in the bag, think about how we could pick off everyone who showed up. We know what Twelve needs- clearly it's for Lover Boy, considering how badly I stabbed him-"

"Not bad enough, since he's still alive," Clove murmurs, narrowing her eyes at Cato when he glares at her.

"And then there's Five. She'll be easy to kill. Eleven will come, we can finish him off. Three kills at the Cornucopia, and then Lover Boy will die out without his partner to bring him back the medicine." Cato grins, his face lighted by the shadows of the flickering fire. "And then we can win and go home."

Clove considers his plan, weighing the pros and cons as she considers the flaws in the plan. "I want the girl from Twelve," she says eventually.

"Deal," Cato says at once.

There is a pause. "I _will _kill you if I have to," Clove reminds him.

He bares his teeth. "That's okay. So will I."

She keeps on fingering her knife. "The rule change wasn't for us, was it," she says quietly.

_No, it was for the pair from Twelve_. Cato doesn't say it, but takes a gulp from his canteen instead. "Fine," he says after he swallows. "We'll take it."

Her face settles back into her usual blank façade. "Fine. I'm going to bed. Goodnight. Wake me up for second watch."

It takes her ten minutes to settle, but eventually Cato watches her face relax into the face of a girl instead of hardened killer. She is so peaceful, he notes.

He wonders what he would have done if the rules hadn't been changed.

**o12**

"Cato!"

He freezes mid step. It can't be. Surely he's imagining it.

The scream comes again, echoing across the grassy knoll and filtering through the trees. "_Cato_!"

Cato is off running then towards the voice, disregarding the noise he is making as he blunders through the trees. "Clove?" he bellows. _This isn't happening_, his mind tells him, _this can't be happening. _Clove isn't really dying, surely not.

The last scream bursts out, desperate and high-pitched. Cato has never heard Clove scream so loudly before, nor has he ever heard her so desperate and scared. He doesn't know if he's ever seen Clove _scared_. She always held her emotions under control, so much so that he never knew what she was truly thinking.

He bursts out of the trees just in time to see Clove crumple to the ground. The big boy from Eleven looks around and catches sight of him before turning back to say something to the girl from Twelve and the two of them rocket off in different directions. Cato doesn't even care that Eleven is taking his pack; he stands where he is, temporarily frozen as he stares at Clove's unmoving body.

The cannon doesn't boom, and Cato takes renewed hope. "Clove!" he shouts, feeling pain and anger pound in his voice. His legs pump hard as he sprints towards his partner. "Clove?"

She doesn't answer, and Cato feels his throat close up. "No," he snarls as he skids to a stop next to his unmoving partner. "No, Clove, you don't get to die now. I won't let you! Stay with me _or else _I'll-"

He smoothes the tears away from Clove's face, tucks her hair behind her ear. She tries to say something and no words come out and he thinks she mouths the word _sorry_, but his own tears obscure her face. "No," he begs. "Please don't go, Clove. Not now. This isn't how I want it. Please, please-"

She mouths _sorry _again, and Cato is crying angry tears now. "You had _better _be sorry," he snarls, "you're leaving me when I need you most." He clutches her hand. "Don't go. I can get you medicine. You're going to be OK, Clove, you just need to stay with me, we trained for this, what are you, a weakling?" He's not quite sure what he's saying now; all he knows is that he needs to keep her alive and he needs to keep talking to keep her with him. "You're not a weakling. You're the strongest person I know. Stay with me-"

Her cannon booms, and Cato falls silent.

He stays there for five minutes, playing with Clove's hair. He can almost feel the audience at home leaning forward, disappointed sighs playing on their lips. And he can almost feel his parents staring disapprovingly at their screen, talking about how they _warned _him to stop practicing with Clove, this is what happens when you make friends at training, this is what happens when you get attached.

He smoothes Clove's last tear away from her cheek and closes her lifeless eyes. "Goodbye," he whispers to the tiny girl in front of him. "Goodbye, Clove. I'll win. For both of us." His voice doesn't crack as he gently places her hand on her chest.

Before he leaves, he takes a knife from her collection. He notices that it's her favorite, the one with gold tips. He cracks an ironic smile. It's her birthday present from him.

So the last time he ever lays eyes on Clove, she is sleeping, looking for the world as though she is simply lying in the grass for a summer nap. Cato begins to run, run far away from his best friend, because it just seems too hard to realize that she is only a young girl and will never grow up to be someone better than her father.

**o13**

He gives in, finally, to the sorrow that overwhelms him when he sees the mutts.

He still fights back, of course, but as he whirls with his sword flashing in the dim light, he knows that he is outnumbered as the mutts leap and bite and tear. Even with the armor protecting him, he can feel their teeth ripping and gnashing at him, reminding him of the pain he must have caused the other tributes.

If Clove were here, he reflects, they'd be done in no time.

_But, _his mind whispers treacherously, _Clove isn't here_. And then Cato's sword falters- too late, too late- and the mutts, sensing death, converge.

Cato gives in, because he begins to realize that if he goes home without Clove, now, there isn't anything to live for. Nobody to train with, nobody to challenge him. No friends, none true anyway. Yet death doesn't come quickly, even though he begs the Gamemakers to end it once and for all. _I just want to go. _

He remembers his words to Clove. _I'll win for both of us._

He's failed her, yet again.

So Cato gives in. Against his natural instinct to survive, he turns to Katniss Everdeen, who is looking at him with pity. "Please," he whispers.

He gives in, because there isn't any point in winning now.

**o14**

And the first time he sees Clove again, she is sleeping.

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><p><em>Be my friend<br>Hold me, wrap me up  
>Unfold me<br>I am small  
>I'm needy<br>Warm me up  
>And breathe me<em>

* * *

><p>"breathe me", sia<p>

Reviews as always, greatly appreciated :)


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